The New Age of Baker Street
by throughtheparadox
Summary: The third installment to the When I Say Run, Run Chronicles, following Star-Crossed on A Glass Case, this fic fast forwards to seventeen years later, following the lives of Sherlock and Irene's twins, Arabella and Hamish Holmes as they struggle consulting detective work and university life, taking over their father's old domain at Baker Street. RATING SUBJECT TO CHANGE.
1. Through The Years

Years. It has been years.

Sherlock Holmes paced the living room of the Holmes's ancestral house, palms rubbing against each other. After his parents moved to their other home in Manchester, they had the house transferred to Sherlock's name (Mycroft didn't mind since he had that grand building he'd like to call a house) and they had moved there ever since, needing the space because the children are growing. Still visiting Mrs. Hudson every now and then, Baker Street served as their vacation home in the city.

Streaks of grey now visible on his hair, the thinking lines on his forehead more apparent than before. Other than the subtle changes, Sherlock's face still carried the same smart look, those sharp blue eyes still hinting an unending touch of his analytic mind.

To his surprise, Irene held him by the shoulders, her eyes crinkling to a kind smile. He stared at her, the ring on her finger glistening even in the dim light of the room. Despite what seemed like forever, she still retained her elegance, that air of intelligence whiffing in the air at her every step. The code of her safe no longer matched her measurements, but still the changes are unnoticeable to an ordinary person's eye. Sherlock did notice though, for he was never ordinary, but not that it counted. Irene was still his epitome of brains and beauty.

He saw in her eyes the same thing reflected on his. It wasn't the rush of a case or the adrenaline from danger but worry. Deep, deep worry.

As he was about to open his mouth to tell her what he was thinking, both their eyes darted to the door, a girl of sixteen years bouncing out and about to greet them with a kiss on each cheek. Relief washed over them, followed by annoyance.

It was their daughter, Arabella.

"Hey Mum, Dad!" she said, her smile immediately turning to a straight face when she saw the look on her parents' face. "I'm just gonna head over to my room, okay? No?"

Irene raised her eyebrows at her daughter. "Where have you been?"

"Erm… I… I…" Arabella started to explain but Sherlock held his finger up, giving his daughter a once-over.

"Not anywhere we should be worried about." he said, nodding to Irene. "So tell me… did you solve the case?"

Irene raised her eyebrows at her husband, seeing how casually this all suddenly seemed. But then, they were used to this: Arabella arriving late in the night, an understanding passing between her and her father. Irene loves them deeply, but her daughter evidently took on from her prick of a father.

At Sherlock's question, Arabella's eyes lit up even more. "Hardly a difficult deduction, dad. It was her roommate."

Sherlock smiled upon hearing her daughter's response, sitting on the couch and reaching for a book he was reading earlier that day. He turned to Irene, giving her a look that tells her she should let the situation go. Irene sighed, surrendering.

"Where's Hammy?" Arabella asked, dramatically searching the room for her twin.

"He went straight to his room as soon as he came home from school. Got the 'experiment ongoing' sign hanging on the door. Do you know what he's up to?" Irene asked, sitting next to Sherlock.

Arabella sat across them, shaking off her favourite accessories: Sherlock's old deerstalker and blue scarf. "I don't know. Most likely he's testing out the durability of a condom. Looking at the state of his eyes earlier today and his speech patterns, I bet he's going on a date in… a day or so."

At that, Sherlock looked appalled. "Durability of a condom?" he uttered, as if the word was completely foreign. Irene laughed.

"You're father was never a fan of using those." Irene said and with that, both of them laughed at the reddening Sherlock Holmes.

"Really, dad? Does it feel better that way?" Hamish asked, suddenly emerging from the stairs. His dark curls are all messed up, his long-lashed grey eyes lazy as compared to the alert blue hue of his sister's.

Irene and Arabella's laugh grew louder and Sherlock covered his face with his hands. "Look at him. Still alarmed by sex." Irene mused, nudging Sherlock.

Hamish scratch the back of his head, rolling his eyes at the ruckus as he started to walk back to his room. "Nevermind. I got my answer."

"Now, now grumpy. What's the rush? Is it serious this time?" Arabella asked, her arm going over her twin's shoulder.

Hamish eyed her, then his parents, as if pleading them to stop her sister from snooping. He sighed in resignation, seeing that both his mum and his dad are also expecting an answer. "Just because I'm planning to have sex with a girl, it already makes it serious?" he simply said. Arabella stared at him, disappointed.

"Just when I thought you were over..." she started nonchalantly when Arabella received a warning look from her mother. Her father, on the other hand, still had his eyes fix on her brother as if his words reminded him of some fond memory. Hamish just shrugged, trying to act like he was okay with it but knowing her twin, Arabella was sure he was still in dread.

People may think living as a Holmes would be difficult, but it wasn't. Sherlock and Irene may not miss much, but they are very understanding and very open. Even their uncle Mycroft is fun to be with, his condescending attitude amusing to the twins.

Starting their freshman year at the University of Westminster in the coming fall, Arabella and Hamish are set to leave for Baker Street in the start of next week. Both are excited to start this new chapter in their lives in their first home, 221B.

Not that their parents were happy about it.

/

"But it's a triple-murder JH! I need you there!" Arabella insisted, tugging on her brother's shirt one Tuesday morning. Hamish swatted her hand away, slamming his head back to his pillow.

"Jonathan Hamish Holmes! Mum wouldn't allow me to go unless you tag along so please, please, please…" Arabella pleaded, her eyes tearstained as she tried to shake her brother once more.

Hamish opened his eyes, grey eyes focusing on the pout his sister was giving him. "It isn't worth getting up to bed both know who the murderer is the moment we laid our eyes on the police report. Hardly matters."

Arabella huffed. "You used to be more fun to be with. Now you're just this pompous, pretentious bad boy."

Hamish sat up, studying his sister. There was something in Arabella's expression that gave the fruit of the situation away, one that Hamish was trying to avoid but was bound to happen.

"This isn't about the murders… This is about the people in charge of the bodies." Hamish hissed, seeing right through his sister's intentions.

Arabella couldn't look him in the eye, using long hair to hide her caught expression. Hamish gave a nudge and she met his eyes, blue to grey with a passing understanding.

"I just thought you wanted to see her." Arabella confessed, her tone apologetic.

Hamish averted his eyes, his hands already clenched to fists but not with the intention to hit his sister, but just to take all the emotions away from his face. Arabella handed him her phone, a text message onscreen.

_'Hey Ara! I'm the intern doing the rounds in the morgue this week. Will personally be handling the triple murder thing and I'll let you sneak in to check the bodies. See you around 8?'_

Hamish stared at the message, his face unreadable. Without looking at the sender, he knew exactly who the message was from.

_**Elizabeth Watson.**_


	2. Inside The Mind Of Hamish Holmes

The cab ride was quiet.

Hamish stared out the window the entire time, his mind trying to focus. His father had always reminded him how clouding sentiment can be, the stories of his parents' countless separation to avoid it is as familiar as the back of his hand.

His father had always told him that his mother was the only one, The Woman as he fondly calls her, and that it took him forever to figure that out. Sherlock had often expressed how happy he was that Hamish was less cold, less stoic. But at the moment, he wished he had his father's emotional shield.

He could feel his sister's eyes on him, her fingers twirling against each other, clearly a sign of anxiety. He knows she feels guilty, knowing that she had persuaded him to come along. His father said that it was just like their mother's talent, only that Arabella was less 'manipulative'. She had indeed inherited their mother's charm, her sweet smile quick to get people to do what she wants, which explains the easy access to simple neighbourly cases despite her age.

Two more blocks and they will reach the hospital. Approximately 8.5 minutes.

Hamish could feel the pounding in his chest, his hands on his pockets. His father had taught him this, keeping the pressure in your hands to drain the emotion in your face. Useful for cases or real life.

Arabella groaned and his eyes darted to her.

"Don't be mad at me anymore." she said, her fingers curling on the sides of her coat.

Hamish gave her a small smile, one that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm not mad."

"I just wanted to help." she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

"I know." he answered back in a monotone.

The hospital came into view, all lights dim because of the deepness the night is approaching. As the cab went into a stop, Hamish stepped out, tightening the blood red scarf on his neck and straightening his chestnut Henlow coat, he made his way into the doors, Arabella right behind him, flattening the deerstalker on her head.

They made their way to the morgue, the once familiar place seemingly foreign to Hamish as he realised he hasn't stepped foot in these halls for a number of months. The sign on the door stared him in the face and he hesitated. Arabella glanced at him before coming in, leaving him alone in the dimmed hallway.

He studied the door, catching a whiff of Le Paradis de Nina in the air. Cursing to himself, he pushed the door and let himself in. As soon as he did, he saw her.

Elizabeth Watson stood with her back to him, her voice in deep conversation with his sister. She was wearing a lab coat, an intern histopathologist required by the degree she was pursuing. Her blonde hair was tied in a messy bun, the porcelain skin on her exposed nape sending unwanted memories surface in Hamish's mind palace.

He stood there, averting his eyes as he cleared his throat, making them known of his presence. Elizabeth turned and Arabella bit her lip, her eyes assessing the situation. His gaze met hers, stormy grey orbs giving nothing away.

He walked by the bodies, eyes scanning every mark, every sign, trying to block his mind from how small the room suddenly felt like. "Rope marks around the wrists. Faint but still visible, suggesting bondage. Those marks on the third victim's neck are not hickeys but claw marks. Same found on the second victim's legs and the first's arm. Sides of the mouth also slightly bruise, those two chapped so clearly gags are used. Not just ordinary gags." he started typing on his phone, smiling slightly when his desired result came up. "It was their maths professor."

Arabella nodded, clearly seeing what her brother just explained. She bit her lip, tucking in a remark, knowing that even before they left the house, they already knew who the culprit was.

Elizabeth just nodded, pursing her lips as she started writing on the clipboard she was carrying. "Noted." she simply said.

Hamish glanced at her sideways, her green eyes fixed on what she was writing, which seemed like an awful lot compared to what was needed. Her shoulders were hunched, dark circles under her eyes showing lack of sleep. She lost some weight from the last time he saw her, the memory of her walking away flashing into his eyes. His fingers balled into fists felt like they were going to bleed from tightness, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He could hear them, voices muffled by the door but audible still.

"I... I'm sorry. Mum and dad just wouldn't let me come alone..." Arabella tried explaining but Elizabeth cut her off.

"Oh. No harm done, Ara. It's all cool, I swear. It's been months. I'm fine, he seemed fine... Before everything else, we are all friends. Nothing would change that." she said, the smile on her face a reflection of her mother's.

"Thanks, Lizzie. Glad you understand... I just hope you get to hangout with us as often as before." Arabella replied.

**_Before_**. The word echoed in Hamish's mind.

He started walking, fishing a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it up and took it in, the nicotine filling up his nerves with energy. His phone beeped, seven messages present.

**_Jessica_**

**_Marlene_**

**_Ellen_**

**_Ivory_**

**_Janine_**

**_Natasha_**

**_Piper_**

He deleted the messages without even reading them, each name swiped off his mind palace one by one. He was never a repeater, one time was his rule.

Letting out a stream of smoke escape his lips, he gave one past glance to the direction of the morgue before leaving a message for his sister, saying he will not come home with her tonight.


	3. In The Wrong Place

"Hello Uncle Sherlock. I decided to drop Ara home after… Hamish left. Sorry we took forever. We did need some catching up." Elizabeth said with an apologetic smile. Sherlock was deeply fond of her, almost helping to raise her when they were still back in Baker Street. She was an absolute reflection of Mary in terms of physicality, but with John Watson's resolution and bravery.

"That's alright. How's John and Mary?" he asked, gesturing for them to come in. Arabella kissed her father happily, her arm hooked on Elizabeth.

Elizabeth beamed at the question, sitting comfortable on the Holmes' living room. "Well, they are wondering when you'll come over. Daddy is quite impatient these days. Probably missing the sight of cadavers and police tapes." she replied with a chuckle. Sherlock smiled before turning to his daughter.

"Any idea where your brother might be?" he asked.

Arabella shook her head. "I asked the network already. No one has seen him."

Sherlock saw Elizabeth wince a little, not as noticeable but not hard to miss as well. He knew she was thinking of Hamish as well, her suddenly distant green eyes giving her thoughts away.

/

Hamish leaned on a lampost, watching the nearby coffee shop from across the street. His blazing grey eyes scanned the perimeter actively, giving his black curls a quick tousle before walking in. If there was one thing he learned most about his parents, it was the idea of meriting logic over sex and the other way around. it wasn't just sex as an act but rather the things that go off with it, may it be manipulation, lust, or emotions.

The past few months had been difficult, his heart trying to overrule his head. He found a solution, a game of sorts, something Arabella called cruel but had also seen necessary. He was fading away, out of his usual league, fixated of fixing a problem that caused him to malfunction in every way possible. People had told him he had lost some weight, the old sarcastic remarks he used to give no longer heard, only to be replaced by a piano piece he had written, the sound of lament hidden on the notes.

He was a head-turner, his dark hair falling carelessly over his stormy grey eyes. Sharp cheekbones from his father and thin, menacingly seductive lips from his mother made it easy to play around without even showing the slightest interest. Picking the low-lighted corner of the coffee shop, he saw in his periphery a redhead who was eyeing him. He turned to her, a fake flirty smile forming in his lips despite the seething in his head.

"Are you with someone?" he asked, flashing his sultriest grin.

"No. Are you?" the girl asked, her finger tracing the edge of her coffee cup. Her brown eyes darkened as he sat across her, a playful smile caught in her mouth.

He swayed her with his sweet words, one that was easily tailored by the mere study of her body language. Whispering in her ear, she easily came with him, hand snaking up his arms as they headed to the nearby alley, giggling like preschoolers. She grabbed him by the lapel of his coat, dragging him to her dorm room, shushed sniggers escaping their lips. He kissed her, his hands exploring her body and she invited him freely.

Hamish was disgusted with himself.

After what seemed like a daze, a scornful whim of adrenaline drugging them sexual desires, he lay there, the girl sleeping soundless in his arms with her head resting on his bare chest. If Sherlock Holmes believed that he was once cold and heartless, Hamish now thought he was something much worse. He was done with this girl, her name already deleted in his hard drive, and now it was his cue to leave. Without a note or a noise, Hamish got dressed and sneaked out of the dorm, rubbing his hands against the cold of night… or was it dusk?

His mind fleeted, the look on Elizabeth's green eyes revisiting him. He remembered once, when they were merely children, the first time he looked at her differently.

His father had a client, a manic one at that and he and his sister were only six years old. At an unexpected turn of events, he was suddenly held at gunpoint, the deranged look on the eyes of the man still haunting him in his dreams at times. He could remember the cold feel of the gun against his neck, the fear in his youthful frame reverberating.

Despite the resolution of that incident, he found himself unable to speak, haunted by the experience. Until she came.

Lizzie Watson, as they all fondly call her, knocked on his room with something in her hands, that kind smile reaching her twinkling green eyes. She was already a young lady, a girl of 10 years going on 11 and the pride in him that seemed to be a Holmes trait somehow diminished, feeling like a mere child in front of her.

She told him it was okay to be afraid, for one could never be truly be brave without having fear. She then handed him a red scarf, telling him that the shade means courage, and if ever he was in fear or in doubt, the scarf shall give him warmth and strength. He remembered how he rolled his eyes at the sentiment she was implying, but took the scarf anyway. When she left, he held the scarf to his face, the scent of her perfume clinging to it, and that night he dreamt of her, green eyes and kind smile one of the first memories ever to get stored in his very own mind palace.

Snapping back to the present, Hamish tugged onto the scarf on his neck, tightening it to shield himself from the cold. He must have looked so stupid earlier, he left her see his sentiment, showing up wearing this bloody piece of cloth after what had happened. Hamish cursed.

Suddenly, he stopped in his heel when a gunshot was heard, coming from the direction of the dorm he just left.


	4. Storytelling

_A gunshot howled in the night and Hamish found himself looking back at the dorm. He calculated the possibilities, all of which are likely to happen. He shrugged, for the night was already deep and he must head home. Plus, the probability of THAT happening is one out of the other alternatives he had thought of. Slim chance._

_Hamish walked away, tugging on the sides of his coat, his steps suddenly hurried. There was no sign of a commotion but still, the feel of goosebumps running on his skin._

_He looked back one more time, seeing a shadow slip into the night. He willed himself to stop the urge to follow it and succeeded._

_The fear was far more intense._

"Who did you do last night?" Irene asked pointedly as they were all eating breakfast. Sherlock almost choked on his coffee and Arabella snorted.

Hamish sipped on some tea before replying. "Just some random girl."

"Oh for God's sake, Hamish! What is the matter with you?" Arabella hissed, rolling her eyes.

Hamish stared at her coldly. "I didn't force her to come with me. It was a mutual decision."

"Something else happened. Something you're not telling us." Sherlock said, his eyes scanning his son.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and Hamish told them what happened nonchalantly. Arabella's eyes lit up, her hands clapping. "Oooohhh! Is that in the news already?"

Irene glared at her daughter and Arabella stopped. "You're just like your father, dear."

Arabella beamed. Hamish simply shrugged, his mind thinking of the figure he had seen that night. There was a slight grace in the way the figure was moving, almost cat-like. He remembered watching his mother when he was younger, the way she slightly sways when she walks, that air of elegance and sophistication, with just a hint of naughtiness. He was reminded of that last night.

"There's more…" Sherlock pointed out, leaning in closer to the direction of his son. "Much more."

Hamish was about to say something, probably a sharp retort, when someone rang the doorbell. Chief Superintendent Greg Lestrade was on their door, an anxious look on his face. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, scanning him.

"Sherlock. There were reports coming in… Murder of young women. It was like a killing spree! And… There was a link between the victims…" Lestrade relayed, his eyes looking past Sherlock at his last statement, falling on his godson, Hamish.

Sherlock turned and saw that Irene had her hands on her mouth and Arabella had a shocked look on her face. Hamish's grey eyes were in alarm.

"The victims were seen with a particular person linking them. They don't know each other and yet all of them went out with… " Lestrade said somberly, shaking his head. "Hamish, you didn't… didn't you?"

"So all those who were killed were the girls I went out with… Fascinating." he said firmly, not meeting anyone's gaze.

"This is setup." Irene muttered, the nerve on her temple pumping. She looked at Sherlock, a motherly affection stretched across her face. "Sherlock, we have to do something."

Sherlock nodded, his eyebrows knit. "Yes, I know, dear. Surely there are other facts about this case, not just the ones leading to Hamish. Otherwise it will be too tailored and very elaborate." he turned to his son. "But just in case... who'd you reckon did this, if it really is intended to frame you?"

Hamish tried to think. He had been a prick to most people, somehow just a toned-down version of his father, as they would describe him, and he might have offended… well.. a lot of them. Still, nothing much to merit a murder spree pointing towards him. "No. But looking at the possibilities dad, it might be because of you." he said and his father remained calm, considering his son's deduction. "You have a past with… well… people got convicted, you crossed paths with various criminals and megalomaniacs… My mother included, for which I am thankful for, by the way." Hamish added, seeing the mix of protest and amusement in his mother's face. "And what best way to get revenge than to use… well, sentiment. I'm your son and clearly framing you wouldn't do much harm now that you have a family, of course, mum has her own set of enemies that it could work either way, but still, it is about any of the two of you, not me. They could have chosen Arabella, but no offence sis, there isn't much going on in your life, so therefore, me."

"You're all taking all of this calmly, aren't you?" Lestrade said, not even surprised and probably amused.

"There's something you missed, brother dear." Arabella mused. "You didn't figure out whether it was mum or dad's old enemy, but clearly it's obvious. It can't be dad's, because seeing the look on your face, I'd say she reminded you of mum, plus, these papers Uncle Greg has brought...Sorry, I nicked it on your bag while you were listening to my brother…" she said, looking at the confused expression on Lestrade's face. " It's as clear as day. Our murderer is a woman. We know that our father has never been as acquainted to women, apart from our mother, again she's the exception. So it has to be one of mother's past clients or somehow in relation to them. The thing we have to do now is to narrow them down."

Irene smiled proudly. "That's my children for you."

Sherlock beamed as well, his expression suddenly going serious when he turned back to Lestrade. "Thank you."

Lestrade was taken in surprise at Sherlock's sudden expression of gratefulness, a crinkle in his eyes forming as he smiled.

"Oh don't look so pleased." Sherlock snapped and Lestrade wiped his grin.

"It's quite eerie how alike you all are." Lestrade muttered. "Oh well. Best to be off, then. I'll try to do the best I can to help out."

Irene smiled at him, tiptoeing to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Greg. Truly."

Sherlock looked at them, his eyebrows raised. "Who the hell is Greg?"

Lestrade cursed. "Some things never change… Bye all!" he said, waving goodbye.

As soon as Lestrade left, Irene folded her hands on the table, all hint of humour gone on her face. "Let's get to work."


	5. Framed Photograph

**(Hello everyone! How're you liking Arabella and Hamish so far? Well, I know that you all missed Irene and Sherlock centric chapters so here you go!)**

Irene paced their bedroom, her hands running over her hair, a gesture she somehow picked up from watching her husband for years.

Husband. She smiled at that.

Who would have thought she, a dominatrix who almost put a nation down to its knees and him, a high-functioning sociopath who invented being a consulting detective will get married. Thinking about the situation, getting her son out of a mayhem that would've been caused by either her or Sherlock's past is like a nightmare coming to life.

And she felt responsible for what was going on. Especially since Arabella pointed out that the person who caused this might be connected to her and not Sherlock.

Irene's eyes landed on the framed photo by the dresser, her eyes crinkling on the edges as she reached for it. There she was, in a simple white dress, Sherlock suited up beside her. She had a rose in her hand and a veil on her head, a smile on both their faces.

She remembered how spontaneous it was, Sherlock's proposal a funny memory.

_They had an argument that day, with Sherlock being moody as always, glancing at her like he would stab her anytime. She snapped at him and he snapped back and looking back, it was all nonsense. _

_Finally, Irene pushed Sherlock, the blood pumping heavily on her veins. "What is the matter with you? Who are we kidding anyway? We can never make this work! I'll take the children so they wouldn't have to suffer growing up with a prick of father like you! We're leaving!"_

_Sherlock stepped in front of her, the same agitated look in his eyes a reflection of hers. "And what would do? Go back to being a dominatrix? Earning protection to extend to Arabella and Hamish? You are absurd…" he hissed, voice impatient. _

_Irene grunted, stomping her feet and turning away from Sherlock. "You are impossible."_

_"Look who's talking." Sherlock spat back. _

_Irene made her way to the bedroom, opening the closet and trying to look for a luggage, deciding to leave Sherlock. _

_"Oh, so this is really your solution? This is what you're good at, are you? Running away, hiding, disappearing… Pretending you're dead" Sherlock said in spite. _

_Irene continued what she was doing, muttering curses. To her surprise, Sherlock caught her wrist, cuffing her to himself. _

_"If you think I would let you run away again, you're wrong." Sherlock said, his voice barely a whisper. _

_Irene felt her anger slowly fading away as Sherlock's gaze softened. "I… forgive me for the way I've been acting. It's just that I don't know how to tell you… I don't know how to ask…"_

_"Ask me what?" Irene replied, her eyes searching for an answer. Sherlock pulled out a box from his pocket, a ruby ring greeting her. _

_Irene's eyes grew wide in shock, no words escaping her lips. "Don't worry, it's not the same one I was supposed to give to Janine." Sherlock said, smiling. _

_"I thought…" Irene started to say but Sherlock finished her sentence for her. "That marriage is a social construct made to commercialise a union between to people who are in love? Yes. I still believe in that but I deemed it was quite unfair that John had forced me to give a speech on his wedding and he wouldn't get to return the favour." Sherlock said. _

_Irene's face fell. "So this is about John?"_

_Sherlock chuckled. "It was a joke, Irene. I have said before that I was married to my work and that I also believe that if I were to marry, my wife would have to expect to wake up to my corpse in any casual day (*inspired by ACD canon quote by Holmes in The Valley of Fear), which is not what any woman would have wanted. However, I realised that it wouldn't be a problem with… well… with you. You and I… we… we know things. We understand things. And… What I'm saying is that…" Sherlock was breathing heavily now and Irene could almost feel his heartbeat reverberating in his chest. She was smiling at him, trying to stifle a laugh. _

_"What's funny?" Sherlock asked, totally confused._

_"You are. You can easily spout out a proposal when it is completely insincere. I bet you did it before without even blinking but now… You are seriously having a hard time." she replied, planting a kiss on his lips, one that he returned earnestly. _

_"Will you do it? Marry me, I mean?" Sherlock whispered, his lips brushing on hers._

_"Afraid I'll run away?" Irene replied, smiling. _

_At her reply, Sherlock shook his head, averting his eyes from her. "Forget it. I completely understand. It's a stupid idea. We wouldn't have to… I'm... Where did I put the key to this bloody handcuff anyway?" Sherlock started muttering, but Irene didn't miss the sadness in his voice. _

_"I didn't say no." Irene said, grabbing Sherlock by the collar. _

_Sherlock stared at her, sighing. "It's no problem, really."_

_Irene rolled her eyes. "Oh don't be a drama queen. I'm saying yes, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Why can't you figure me out after everything we've been through?"_

_"I don't know… but I'm willing to spend the rest of my life finding out." Sherlock whispered, his forehead leaning to her. _

_For someone who dismissed sentiment for so long, Sherlock can be very romantic, Irene thought. He just held her, steady in his arms as if breathing in the moment. She let him, feeling the touch of his skin on her own sending shivers down her spine. _

_Sherlock then leaned in to kiss her, dipping her down to the direction of the bed. The children were over with John and Mary's, young Lizzie tutoring Arabella and Hamish. The flat was their own and the moment proved to be very special. _

_"Mmm… Since we're already handcuffed…" Irene started to say when Sherlock kissed her, more passionately than the past kisses they shared. _

The wedding was simple and 'utterly boring' as Sherlock would describe it. Irene couldn't have disagreed. The reception, however, was the highlight.

_It was a long drive but everyone was patient, for they understood what Coventry meant for Sherlock and Irene **(in reference to the final chapter of When I Say Run, Run). The greatest thing of the day was John's best man speech. _

_The doctor greeted everyone, from Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson… Mary was also there with Lizzie, who was fondly looking after Arabella and Hamish. Of course, Sherlock's parents were also in attendance (to Sherlock's dismay), and even Mycroft was forced to attend, much to the scolding of their mother. He beamed at everyone, excited like a child. Sherlock rolled his eyes. _

_"Hello everyone. As you can see, I am bloody excited. And since we are here to celebrate the special day of this… weird couple… we will break tradition." John announced, making Irene and Sherlock raise their eyebrows. _

_"Since everyone never imagined this would happen and it did, we all decided to give a short speech to… erm… congratulate you both. Starting with your parents, Sherlock." John said, acting like an emcee. _

_Violet started to snivel, blowing her nose in a handkerchief handed to her by her husband. "Oh! Sherlock, dear. You don't know how happy we are… Irene, darling. If our boy gives you any trouble, any trouble at all, just give me a ring and I'll handle it." she said, making everyone in the room laugh. "Oh don't worry, Violet. I will." Irene replied, making Sherlock wince. _

_His father, on the other hand, stood bashfully, smiling softly. "I know you don't like this one bit, son, so I'll keep it short. You did well. Irene is a wonderful woman."_

_Sherlock gave his father a small smile and Irene stood up to give Sigir a kiss on the cheek, which made the older Holmes blush. _

_Everyone else followed, all sharing their fair share of guesses as to how Irene and Sherlock would live this new chapter in their life. Finally, it was John's turn. _

_The doctor stood up, the trace of laughing from the previous messages still etched on his face. He looked at Sherlock, then Irene before addressing the small company that gathered for the special day. "As you all know, Sherlock had the spotlight on him during my wedding. It was lovely, then it turned bloody mad, ending with an attempted murder so let's hope it doesn't happen again here." Everyone laughed. "But then again, we couldn't be sure just yet, because apart from Sherlock, there is another crazy person in this room and of course, she's the one in white." _

_Irene raised her eyebrows at John, smiling. "Would you have preferred it if I've worn my battledress, doctor?" she said, winking at Mary, who giggled. John shook his head. "And that proves my point. What I'm saying is that when I met this madman, Sherlock Holmes, back in St. Barts that one fateful day, I have decided that this person was very different. Very brilliant, in fact. The same night, he told me he was married to his work and I assumed that romance was clearly out of the question. A few years later, I walked in on him with Irene straddling his lap, naked. I couldn't understand what was happening then, I still haven't figured out what happened up to now but if there was one thing I took away from that encounter, I'd say that Sherlock was mystified by Irene. He never paid attention to anyone other than himself but it was clearly not the case at that moment. And at the time, I thought it was sick, it was toxic, it was bloody weird!"John confessed. _

_"Because you were obviously jealous." Irene mused and Sherlock raised his eyebrows. John rolled his eyes, wagging his finger at Irene. _

_"Don't...!" John said and Irene raised her hands, dramatically, as if in surrender. John continued. "And since faking deaths is sort of their 'thing', I'm here to attest that Sherlock was devastated when Irene 'died'." John said, making air quotes. Irene smiled and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, I wasn't." the detective interjected. "Stop fibbing, Sherlock." Mary called out and everyone laughed again._

_"As I was saying…" John said, "...I started to question whether this man, the man who I had thought to value intellect over others, had learned to love romantically. And standing from where I am now, I'd say I was right. Sherlock is the best man I have known and he had said once before that I have saved him. Well, the truth is that he also saved me. When I found my happiness in Mary, I wished that he would find the person for him, too. And of course, who would have better matched Sherlock Holmes than The Woman. I wish you both all the happiness and everlasting love. Do know that everyone in this room…" Mycroft scoffed and Violet shot him a poisonous look, "...has your support and we will always be here for both of you." John raised his glass and everyone did the same. "To Irene and Sherlock." _

_"Irene and Sherlock." everyone echoed (well, almost everyone. Mycroft merely mumbled)._

_At that, the room was full of snivels and blowing of noses. Sherlock stood and offered his hand to John, who instead of taking it, gave him a brief hug and a clap on the back. Irene gave John a hug as well before hooking her arm on Sherlock's, greeting everyone with a smile, gratefulness and love overflowing. _

Irene sighed, the memory of then making her less than okay now. It was like she made a rash decision, putting not just her own life in danger, but Sherlock, Hamish and Arabella's as well.

The worst was that she doesn't regret anything at all. Despite the danger, she would never imagine giving up her family.

Suddenly, she felt a kiss land on the back of her head. "What're you thinking about?" she heard Sherlock say, his arms wrapping around her from behind. He had his face buried in her hair and a warm feeling spreading inside her. Irene placed her hand on Sherlock's arm, a smile surfacing on her face. "Our wedding day. I remember it like it was just yesterday."

"I do, too." Sherlock whispered, his arm tightening around her. At the gesture, Irene felt their years together lift the burden on her shoulders. After all this time, she and Sherlock never lost the excitement of the mind game that brought them together. He would still be that cold prick sometimes, she would be a strong-willed bitch on the other end and they would clash, but at the end of the day, things would be settled with either steamy sex or cuddling by the fireplace.

"Your plan was wonderful, by the way." Sherlock commented, his chin now resting on her shoulder. "Well, it didn't sound like that when you and you children started modifying it." Irene replied. She heard Sherlock's soft laugh, his chest vibrating against her back. She turned to face him, her lips meeting his, their kisses soft and comforting. Sherlock smiled at her, assurance in his voice. "We were just messing with you, dear. We'll go with the original plan. Your plan."

"Where are the children?" Irene asked, her fingers curling on Sherlock's hair. Sherlock slid his hand on the small of her back, his mouth dipping down his wife's neck. "Off to John's. We promised we'll have dinner with them later, did you forget?" Sherlock replied.

"No… I didn't… But I'm in the mood for an early dinner…" Irene purred, pulling her husband closer.

"Then let's have dinner." Sherlock replied.


	6. Troubled Heart

**_(Sorry for the late update! Life got in the way. Haha)_**

Dinner.

Hamish hated things like this- sitting, eating, talking- especially when Elizabeth was just across him. She was eating slowly, the food running over her red lips that makes his chest tighten. Her smile was bright as always, though not directed at him but his sister.

He felt isolated, alone, seeing that his father was busy talking to their uncle John and his mother having a cuppa with their aunt Mary. Everyone was busy talking about the situation at hand, a situation involving his youth that was supposedly on the brink of danger, and yet he felt like he was the one who didn't belong with any of them.

His fingers grew cold, grey eyes growing darker by the minute. Trying so hard to get away from Elizabeth, he mumbled that he will be resting for the night, not waiting for anyone else to excuse him.

Slamming the door behind him, Hamish laughed sardonically. "Fuck. This is pathetic, even for me." he muttered.

Brushing his fingers on his hair, he staggered to his desk, swiping off its contents in a fit of silent seething. His copy of A Tale of Two Cities fell off with a photograph and his eyes lingered longer, regretting as he did.

There he was, being forced to smile by Elizabeth in a selfie that she took one summer afternoon three years ago. She was in all smiles and he was his usual brooding self but he remembered how happy he was just sitting there beside her, feeling how warm her body was next to him.

The remembered that it was her send off party before she sets out to leave for college, taking in the room her father used to rent back in Baker Street. He was there, watching her as he always did, making sure she would go home safe. Of course, Arabella left early at a whim of a pending case, leaving him with Elizabeth drunk in his arms.

Knowing she would forget everything at the state she was in, Hamish felt it was the right time to tell her how he felt. He remembered the way she looked at him with her dazed eyes as soon as he called her name.

"Liz, I- This is cowardice, I know, but since you'll be off to a new chapter of your life tomorrow, I just don't want to miss a chance to tell you how much I love you." he blurted out, his words spilling out that he was almost out of breath. She looked at him, a small smile forming in her lips as she heard him, her hand reaching out to hold the side of his face.

"I love you too, H." she whispered before planting a kiss on his lips.

Hamish shook of the memory from his head, his head throbbing in agony. "Damn," was all he could say.

He heard someone knocking on the door and very snappy, he shouted "What?!"

To his surprise, it was his mother.

"They're leaving. Aren't you gonna go down to see them off?" Irene asked her son, a knowing look on her face. "Of course not. Last time you sent off a Watson, you came home with your heart broken."

Hamish stared at his mother, then lowered his eyes as she started to scrutinise him further. "Well, am I right or am I right?" Irene asked once more, sitting beside him.

"I don't need a lecture, mum." He muttered, but felt his mother was going to say something anyway.

"I'm not going to lecture you, I'm just going to tell you how you and your father are very much alike." Irene mused, smiling. "He had the same puppy dog face when I left him..."

Hamish looked up and saw the wistful look on his mum's face. "I- Can I talk to dad?"

Irene raised her eyebrows at her son. "I was the one who came here, you know. Then you go asking for your dad. Prick." she joked, nudging him slightly. Hamish smiled.

His mother planted a kiss on his forehead and gave him a wink. A few minutes later, Sherlock came in, his fingers raking over his curls now streaked with grey. He sat beside his son, giving him a slight smile.

"Your mum is much more better at giving... love advice." Sherlock mused, raising his eyebrows at his son. Hamish simply shrugged.

"That's not the point, dad." he replied. "Mum is... a difficult woman. How did you-? Oh I don't even know why I'm asking this..."

Sherlock stared at his son rather blankly. He expected him to be frank, for mumbling and dilly-dally was something he and Irene never tolerated, but this was something else. Love was something beyond of himself and Irene was the only one in his life who had proved him wrong of his convictions about romance. How was he supposed to help?

Hamish sighed. "How did you take it, dad? Mum leaving?"

Sherlock gave out a short laugh. "Your mum didn't leave then. She faked her death. That was different."

"Might as well." Hamish said under his breath.

"I never knew what I was feeling at the time. I was trying to be oblivious of it. Love is a ploy and she was the distraction of the game at the time. But if you were to ask everyone, they will say that I was utterly devastated." Sherlock said.

"And were you? Devastated, I mean?" Hamish asked.

Sherlock folded his hands under his chin as a sign of habit, letting them fall to his side at a whim. "Thinking about it now, I would say I am. She was... is... Special to me even before I cared to admit."

Hamish replied, slumping to his bed. "Well, it is quite different, come to think about it."

"Pain is inevitable. You can choose to dismiss it, to deny it, to keep it in the depths of your mind. But the more you suppress it, the larger the bruise when it comes snapping back like an outstretched rubber band." Sherlock simply said, his eyes trained to the wall. Hamish stared at his father, seeing and feeling what he meant.

"Thanks dad." Hamish muttered and Sherlock took it as a cue to leave. The younger Holmes was thankful about how much his father was not one to hover, leaving him to his thoughts when it deemed necessary.

Elizabeth Watson's face still lingered beneath his closed eyes, still sending needles to his heart. The darkness of the night seemed like eternity and his thoughts drifted past to who knows what. Hamish felt his mind go peaceful after the twists and turns of his memories and he was about to drift off when he heard a loud ramming on his door.

To his surprise, he was greeted by the panicked look on his mother's eyes, the tremble of her hands sending shivers down his spine.

"Hamish! Your sister is missing!"


End file.
